


Zolf Smith, trusted brother and son.

by j_whirl44



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: (well theres like two lines of dialogue), Gen, Hurt No Comfort, No Dialogue, Trauma, introspective, mild talk of disassociation, mild talk of panic attack, this is dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_whirl44/pseuds/j_whirl44
Summary: Zolf visits home.
Relationships: Feryn Smith & Zolf Smith, Zolf Smith & Hirald Smith
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	Zolf Smith, trusted brother and son.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Dear Son,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24443386) by [goatsongs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goatsongs/pseuds/goatsongs). 



Zolf needs to go home. He knows he needs to go home. It’s been so long, he’s lost track of the years, but he needs to see his family. Or at least try too. This isn’t the first time he’s gotten this way. Shortly after joining the navy and starting his voyage he was filled with regret. He felt like a coward for running away like this, so he tried to leave. Tried to make his way back. But he had a job to do, he had a mission to complete. And for Zolf the mission always came first.

The second time was right after the shipwreck. He had finally made it back on dry land. He yearned for home then. He wanted to hug his father and kiss his mother. He wanted to sit and talk with Feryn for hours in the backyard again. He couldn’t do any of that, especially the latter; his dumb luck made that certain. So instead he found another ship to board and let the sea take away whatever thoughts he had of home.

This time though he couldn’t ignore it. It’d been years and here he was again, that same call to home bubbling in his chest. Poseidon had been irritating him lately and he wanted to get away from it all for a bit. The mercenary work was slowing down, which surprised him a bit, but he wasn’t complaining.

So off he headed towards home. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he got there and he’s trying to not think about it too hard because if he does he might bail out again. So he turns his thinking, looks at it like it’s a mission. The mission comes first. It helps him detach. Clears his head. Makes him focus.

The train ride from London to Somerset is short enough that he doesn’t have time to dwell too hard about the last time he was there, but as the familiar landscape of his childhood rolls into view he feels himself start to tense. He closes his eyes to center himself but all he sees is the mine. He lets out a shaky breath.

The quiet carriage ride to his mining town is filled with Zolf trying to not panic. He looks out the window and sees the shops he remembers come into view. He smiles a little, glad to see not too much has changed. Dwarves are nothing if not consistent and rooted strongly in traditions. It makes sense this place would barely change.

That small comfort he finds in it is quickly gone when he walks through the town now. Memories flooding his vision as he sees children playing in the street, reminding Zolf of him and Feryn. How they spent hours running around shops while their mother gathered goods for them. How they played hide and seek with some other kids. Zolf was a happy child, he thinks, before he ruined it for himself.

The path leading to his house is worn and familiar. He swears the same tree branches he cracked while running away all those years ago were still there. They mock him as some sort of Welcome Home.

He reaches it. His home. He gives a tight smile as he sees it’s still the same. The small but impressive brick was a little worse for wear, but it still stood strong. There was smoke escaping from the chimney and that’s when he realizes he can smell the baking of bread. It smells amazing and Zolf’s stomach growls as he takes it in. He starts to relax, but only for a moment. That’s not what he’s here for. The mission comes first.

He’s never been the sneakiest fellow, but he tries his best as he stalks around the house and enters further into the woods a bit, careful to be quiet. If his parents are in the house, he can’t let them know he’s here. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The further he walks the further he begins to coil in on himself again. His breathing grows short and he begins clenching his hands into fists. His body aches and his heart squeezes as he walks closer to it.

The mine.

The entrance, though now collapsed, is just as big and looming as he remembers it. The chunks of rock and debris are on display in front of him. He walks further up to it, bypassing long forgotten caution signs and rope that used to be used as a barrier. He reaches a hand up and places it on one of the fallen rocks. His breath catches as he feels the cold on his palm. He closes his eyes.

He smells the earthy wetness of the mine that day. He hears the cracking of the support beam over his and Feryn’s head. Tastes the rock dust that entered his mouth as the tunnel began to collapse. He sees the look on his older brother's face as he stood behind Zolf and pushed him out of the way. The final sacrifice.

Zolf’s eyes shoot open and he stumbles back. Away from the memory that still shows up in most of his dreams. He turns away quickly from the mine. He brings both his hands up to his face. He covers his mouth and lets out a pained cry. No tears have fallen; he won't let them.

He gets light headed from the yelling so he stops. He removes his hands and plants them at his side where they now grip the side of his thighs. He might bruise but he doesn’t care.

He begs himself to calm down. He tries to take a deep breath and relax his shoulders. It barely works.

He looks up to see his house just over the treeline. He then sees his father. He’s holding flowers and headed to the same place Zolf was going next. He swallows hard, his good leg is stiff and he tries to get it to move but when it does he trips and falls to the forest floor with a thud. He groans but he lets himself lay there for a moment. He’s face down and dirt is getting into his mouth but he can’t be bothered to move his head.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t feel in control of his body or his mind. He’s gotten like this once or twice before and he’s usually had someone to help him out of it. Someone there to ground him and bring him back into his body. Right now he has no one but himself, and he thinks that’s awful company.

With one last will of thought he pushes himself back up. His good leg and peg leg both wobble for a moment but he’s got them back. He moves towards his father.

The family graveyard is small. Only enough plots for the four of them and a few pets they lost along the way. It’s simple but the Smith’s were never a flashy family. As he approaches he quiets his steps. He looks for the closest tree to hide behind in case his father is disturbed. He finds one and waits. Examining the scene.

His father kneels down. Zolf looks him over. His hair is stark white and long, tied back into a ponytail. He’s still built even in his old age, shoulders broad and his hands look worn but strong. Zolf notices the flowers again. His dad holds three single mums. He places them on each plot. Now all air leaves Zolf’s lungs.

One for Feryn. One for Zolf. One for…

He bites his lip and tries desperately to hold in the tears not brimming his eyes. His body feels cold as a chill runs through it. He wants to puke.

He wasn’t here. He left. His mother’s dead and he didn’t get to say goodbye. He won’t get to see her again. He remembers the look on her face after he came out of the mine, her eyes wide and full of pain; mouth open and releasing a scream of anguish. It’s the last look he’ll see from her and that’s what makes him again drop to the ground in a heap. He still doesn’t make a sound.

He’s gone. So lost in his own head he doesn’t see or hear his father approach until his shoes finally come into view. Zolf looks up and sees the stunned look on his father’s face. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, which in his defense, he thinks he has. Zolf can’t meet his eyes so he turns away. He almost feels ashamed coming back now. Maybe it’d be better for both of them if he was just a ghost.

There’s a hand on his shoulder. It’s weak but it gives a small squeeze, as if it was testing to see if Zolf was actually real. He reaches up a hand slowly and grabs his father’s wrist.

Then his father collapses with a scream. He wraps his arms around Zolf and clings onto him. Zolf doesn’t react at first, his brain and body again at odds with each other. Slowly but surely however one arm moves around his father’s shoulders and he attempts to squeeze him closer. He doesn’t have the strength.

They stay like that for a while. The two of them just curled under the tree together. Neither of them say anything but his father’s sobs rattle the air around them. Zolf’s stiff as he feels the wetness of Hirald’s tears soak into his shirt. He doesn’t take notice of how much time has passed.

Eventually they break a part. Still neither has said a word. Zolf can tell that Hirald wants to but doesn’t by the way his mouth keeps opening and closing.

It’s his father who stand up first. He shakes out his clothes and straightens himself up before looking down at his son again. He extends a hand, Zolf looks at it with suspicion. He’s convinced that if he touches it he’ll break it. After a moment Hirald lowers the invitation and speaks for the first time.

“Zolf..” he says, his voice is low and it cracks. Zolf nearly breaks hearing his father say his name again. But he still hasn’t cried yet. “Come on. Come in I have so much to tell you...my son,” Hirald tries again.

Zolf gets up now. He looks at his father then back to the graves. He knows he can’t stay. Knows he can’t enter that house. Maybe one day, but not today.

“I can’t. I’m sorry I...I shouldn’t be here,” Zolf says, he avoids his father’s look. He knows he’s letting him down but how’s that any different than before.

Hirald tries and fails to get Zolf to look at him. The two just stand there for a long while. Zolf can feel him looking him over. Neither have any idea of what to say.

Finally, Zolf feels hands on both shoulders and they squeeze harder this time. Hirald looks at him as he leans in and places a kiss on his forehead. He steps back and gives him a nod. He walks towards the house without another word. They meet eyes again briefly and Zolf sees the grief, the pain, the hope behind them. Zolf can only imagine that his own look the same.

It’s quiet now, even the trees are still. There’s no birds chirping. Utter silence.

Zolf walks towards the graves. He sees his brother’s name. He places a kiss to his hand and places it on the tombstone. He looks to his mother’s and does the same, his hand lingers a bit longer on hers. He whispers an apology.

He then turns to his grave. The words read: _Zolf Smith, trusted brother and son_. He grits his teeth and lets out a scoff. He spits on it.

He closes his eyes once more. He sees his mother and brother side by side standing in front of him. He smells the baking of bread again.

**Author's Note:**

> this started with a ha ha funny joke, if you can believe it. I've never written Hurt no comfort before OR a fic with so little dialogue I hope I pulled it off.
> 
> and I hope you...enjoyed?
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
